


Whole Hearted

by CoffeeKristin



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeKristin/pseuds/CoffeeKristin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick’s life sucks.</p><p>Well. That’s probably a slight exaggeration. He’s got a great family, a great job running his dad’s pretzel shop, and -- Sharpy aside -- non-asshole friends. He’s getting good grades at school and should graduate on time in the spring.</p><p>But still.</p><p>He glares across the corridor at the reason for all of his problems.</p><p>The sign in front reads: <i>Wholistic Chiropractic: Aligning Minds, Spirits, and Bodies.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whole Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic occurred to me when I took my kid to the mall the other day, and treated myself to a chair massage right in front of Aunt Annie's Pretzels. I blame frosting50, who is the worst, because she makes me write all the things. But she's also the best, because she makes me write all the things, so I forgive her. Thanks for the lightning fast beta and for all the awesome feedback, bb!

Patrick’s life sucks.

Well. That’s probably a slight exaggeration. He’s got a great family, a great job running his dad’s pretzel shop, and -- Sharpy aside -- non-asshole friends. He’s getting good grades at school and should graduate on time in the spring.

But still.

He glares across the corridor at the reason for all of his problems.

The sign in front reads: _Wholistic Chiropractic: Aligning Minds, Spirits, and Bodies._

Patrick snorts at the pretentiousness for about the thousandth time, and Erica jostles his arm, startling him out of his angry contemplation. “Quit glaring at the hottie and get to work, slacker,” she says, pointing at the line of customers waiting for their pretzels. “Two extra salt, two with cinnamon.” 

“ _Sodium’s bad for you, Kaner,_ ” Patrick sing-songs under his breath while he pulls the pretzels out of the bin. “ _Muddies the soul and causes toxicity in the digestive system, puts your whole system out of whack_.” He coats the pretzels liberally and wraps them up neatly, calling up his biggest smile as he passes them to the girls waiting. “Have a nice day!”

Once the line’s been dealt with, Patrick’s making the next batch when he hears a familiar voice. “Can I have a plain wheat, no salt, no butter?” It makes Patrick’s shoulders itch, knowing who’s standing right there, watching him work.

“Hi, Jonny!” Erica says brightly, and Patrick has to force himself not to flinch because that tone of voice is never good. It’s a relief when she just she calls to Patrick. “Hey, can you take this order? I’m going on break. Thanks!”

Patrick sighs and turns, trying to keep his expression neutral. Jonny’s standing on the other side of the counter, a small smile on his face that perks up when Patrick meets his eyes. “Hi,” Jonny says, a little shy, a little challenging, and a lot hot.

And, yeah, that right there is why Patrick’s life sucks. Six-foot-something, broad shoulders, bottomless brown eyes, and an ass that you could bounce a quarter on. The bane of Patrick’s existence.

“Hi, Tazer,” Patrick smiles a little at him because even though Jonny’s ruining his life, Patrick’s mother raised him right. “One of the most boring pretzels ever created, coming right up.” When Jonny’s mouth twitches, Patrick’s smile gets more real. “You sure I can’t tempt you with a little nacho cheese?”

Jonny gags a little, and Patrick laughs. “Come on, I just opened a new bag!”

“Ugh, no, why would you even -” Jonny says, face a little green. “Just - just the pretzel.”

“You sure?” Patrick lifts the spoon out of the nacho cheese mix and laughs when it makes Jonny flinch. “Fine, fine, I’m just kidding. Give me a second.”

He extracts one of the wheat pretzels from the oven, piping hot, and wraps it up, handing it to Jonny and making change, which Jonny drops into their tip jar. The prezel’s too hot to eat, so Jonny just holds it awkwardly. 

There’s a brief silence, where they just stare at each other, before Patrick can’t take it anymore. “Want a lemonade?” Patrick offers out of desperation, because when Jonny’s around, sometimes the only thing Patrick can think about is climbing him like a tree. “It’s from this new supplier, lots of sugar and a bunch of ingredients I can’t pronounce. On the house.”

“Uh - I - “ Jon looks more awkward for a second, before squaring his shoulders like Patrick’s asking him to go to war. “Sure.”

“I’m just fucking with you, man. It’s all natural.” Patrick says, taking pity on Jonny. “And locally sourced.” 

“Locally - really? You guys found locally sourced lemonade? How? Why?”

Patrick can feel his ears burn while he’s pouring out a serving, and he takes a little more care than necessary putting on the lid. “Yeah, I - we get so many of your hippy dippy customers over here after their _massages_ ” - he makes air quotes, because apparently he is that much of an asshole - “and I found this - I mean my dad found some guy who juices his own shit and thought it made sense. You know, good for business.”

“Wow, Pat,” Jonny says, sipping the lemonade. “This is really good. And, you know. I’m really impressed that you - and your dad - are doing your part for the environment and to improve people’s health. As opposed to your usual lethal concoctions of chemicals and lies.” He gestures at the nacho cheese container.

“Fuck off, it is too cheese,” Patrick says, the start of a familiar argument, but it just makes Jonny laugh like he thought it would. “Asshole.” 

There’s another awkward silence for a long moment, Jonny peering up at Patrick between his lashes as he sips the lemonade, his pretzel abandoned on the counter in front of him. He’s so beautiful with his long lashes and his pink cheeks, and _ugh_.

Patrick’s life, honestly.

“You know,” Jonny says after a moment, looking at the lemonade and then up at Patrick consideringly, before a grin slowly breaks across his face. Patrick’s incapable of not smiling right back at him. “Maybe - what if we did something together, you know - promote your place to my clients? _Maman_ and i were talking about it the other day and -“

“Talking about what?” Patrick asks, watching a flush creep over Jonny’s face. “Talking about me?”

“No!” Jonny says loudly, then clears his throat. “No, uh. It’s just - our clients talk about your pretzels, and you send so many people to us for massages and for my mom’s practice and.” He rubs the back of his neck and scrapes his hand up and over his head before dropping it back at his side. “I thought we could find a way to, you know. Synergy.”

“Find a way to, you know. Synergy.” Patrick repeats, watching, fascinated, as Jonny’s flush blooms even darker and spreads down his neck. “What - what does that mean? Did you have this conversation in French? And forget to translate it properly? Because that makes no sense.” He grins when Jonny flips him off.

“Shut up, asshole,” Jonny grumbles. “I - anyway. What if we designed some kind of, like, refillable, eco-friendly water bottle or something, that we can sell at _Whole-istic_ , and it includes a discount on lemonade over here. And then they’ll probably buy a wheat pretzel or something. And if you have reusable bottles or cups or whatever, you won’t have to buy so many of these paper ones.” He mumbles, “that just end up in landfills,” but Patrick’s too busy thinking about his proposal to call him on it.

“Hmm,” Patrick says, turning the idea over in his mind, thinking about how he could make it work. “I like it.” 

“We can put the _Do the Twist!_ name and logo on the bottle, maybe the website or something, and it’s like, I don’t know, free advertising.” Jonny grins around his straw when Patrick scowls. 

“Man, I wish my dad had the stones to name this place what I wanted. Loser.”

“Kaner,” Jonny says flatly. “ _Knot Yo Mama’s Pretzels_ is the worst name in the history of names.”

“Better than _Whole-istic_ asshole,” Patrick says, his voice rising. “And you’re not even spelling it right!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jonny glares at him, mouth set, just as Erica walks out of the back room. “I’ve told you a million time, it’s a fucking play on words -“

“Hey, boys,” Erica says, looking between them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they chorus together. Patrick flushes and shrugs when she raises an eyebrow at them. “Just talking about an idea we had for the store. For both stores,” he amends, jerking a thumb at _Whole-istic_.

They explain it to Erica, and she has an idea for where they can get the refillable bottles made. They’re leaning on the counter, looking at vendors on her phone when a throat clears behind Jonny. He looks over his shoulder at the same time Patrick looks up.

It’s Abby from the MAC store. She’s looking at Jonny’s ass; he’s propped over the counter and his khakis are straining to contain it. Jonny stands so abruptly he almost smacks Patrick in the chin.

“Oh, hi, Abby,” Jonny says, his ears pink. She grins at him, almost feral, and he takes a step back, bumping into the counter. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Mmmhmm,” Abby smirks, “what are you three plotting? Does it involve getting Sharpy back for parking my car on the roof of the mall?”

They all stop to consider the epicness of that prank; to this day, no one knows how Sharpy did it and he definitely isn’t talking. 

“No, uh,” Jonny says, gesturing at Patrick. “We’re gonna sell refillable lemonade bottles that can be used at _Do the Twist!_ , and he’ll give away coupons for _Whole-istic_ for anyone who buys four or more pretzels. Wheat pretzels,” he says firmly as though Patrick had voiced a complaint. 

Patrick doesn’t think they’ve ever sold four wheat pretzels in a day, unless you count the ones Jonny buys every hour, on the hour. It makes Patrick wonder how much exercise he’s getting if he can eat those kinds of carbs on the regular. He glances at Jonny’s biceps, round and encased in a light blue polo.

Patrick swallows. He’s gonna go with the assumption that Jonny works out. A lot.

“Earth to Patrick,” Erica says, snapping her fingers in front of Patrick’s face. “You still with us?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Patrick mumbles, darting a quick glance at Jonny to see if he noticed Patrick staring, but Jonny’s already turned back to respond to whatever Abby was saying.

“What’s going on with you,” Erica asks quietly enough that the other two can’t hear. “Stop acting like a dweeb. You’re gonna scare him away - unless you’re finally going to tell him about your epic gay crush. In which case, maybe dial it back a little. You’re drooling.”

“Shut up, shut up!” Patrick hisses. He also wipes his mouth and then glares at Erica when it comes away dry. He pulls her away from the counter where Abby and Jonny are commiserating about terrible pranks they’ve seen Sharpy pull, so they don’t pay any attention. “Don’t say shit like that where he can hear you. Ugh.” 

“He’s not listening, Pat.” Erica says dismissively, but she does - thank fuck - lower her voice. “So. _Are_ you gonna tell him about your epic gay crush and put all of us out our misery?”

“Us?”

“Us. Me, mom and dad, Jess and Jackie, Sharpy, Abby, Duncs and Seabs. Ms. Gilbert. Mr. Toews. Officer Q. Mr. Bowman. Need I go on?”

Patrick gapes at her, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Oh, Patty,” Erica says, patting his arm when the only sounds he gets past his throat are more whistles than words. “Jonny’s gonna be thrilled when you tell him. He’s so gone on you - I bet he kisses you. It’s gonna be like something out of a fucking romantic comedy.” She punches his shoulder, harder than she needs to, and he grunts, rubbing at it. “And I’m never going to let you forget how dumb you’ve been.”

“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his shoulder. “Do - does everyone really know?”

“Yep.”

“Even Mr. Bowman? The mall manager? The guy that no one has ever actually seen inside this mall? Him?”

“Even Mr. Bowman.”

“Mr. Wirtz?”

“Rocky texts me at least once a week for an update, Pat.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick groans, loud enough that Jonny and Abby glance over at him with concern.

“Nothing - we’re not - it’s - “ Patrick flails. Erica pinches him a little and steps in front of him. 

“Ignore him, he’s just exhausted - why you guys have practice at five a.m. on a Wednesday morning is beyond me.”

“It’s the only time the ice is available,” Patrick says, grateful for her quick thinking. “But you’re right, I’m dragging today.”

“I’m pretty beat, too,” Jonny agrees, and they smile at each other for a minute before Jonny coughs and looks away, his cheeks pink. “Coach was brutal today, huh?”

“Yeah.” Patrick laughs a little loudly. “He was - so early - and. Yeah.” They all look at him, Jonny frowning with concern. “So early.” Fuck, fuck, Patrick thinks, he’s making it weird. He’s gotta rein it in, or Jonny’s gonna freak out.

Erica steps in, handing her phone to Abby. “What do you think about this one?” They all focus on the options and Patrick keeps his eyes firmly away from Jonny.

“Anyway, I should get back -” Jonny gestures over his shoulder after a few minutes. “I’ve got an eleven o’clock. Thanks for the lemonade.” 

Patrick nods, making finger guns at Jonny, who laughs and salutes Patrick before he heads back to _Whole-istic_.

Erica makes a high pitched choking noise, but since he’s halfway across the corridor Jonny doesn’t hear her. 

Thank God, because Abby’s apparently having some kind of fit, her whole body shaking.

“Did - did you just do finger guns at Jonny?” Abby gasp, her face beat red. “Did he just -” When Erica nods, Abby collapses on the counter. “Oh my god, that boy is gone for you, he actually smiled at the finger guns. Erica. He. Smiled. At. His. Finger guns.”

“No, no, he saluted,” Erica gasps out, tears in her eyes. “Abby. He saluted Patrick.”

“Stop, stop,” Abby pleads, gasping for air. “I can’t. I can’t. Oh my god.”

“What’s going on?” Sharpy asks, walking over from Victoria’s Secret, where he’s the manager of the “number one grossing Secret’s franchise in the world” as he delights in telling anyone who’ll listen. “Share with the class.” He smells like a whorehouse, which normally Patrick delights in chirping him for, but right now he’s too busy glaring at Abby and Erica.

“He - “ Abby takes a deep breath, swallowing her laughter and finally pulls herself together a little. She points at Patrick. “He made“ she aims finger guns at Sharpy - “at Jonny and then he -“ she points at where Jonny disappeared inside _Whole-istic_ and salutes - “and now we can die happy because nothing can top that. Ever. Not even one of your pranks.” By the time she’s finished, Sharpy’s laughing, too.

“I hate all of you,” Patrick snaps, turning his back and lets the inevitable Sharpy and Abby flirting-by-way-of-insults go on behind him, mostly at his expense this time, while he starts another batch of dough.

“Hey, Peeks,” Sharpy says a few minutes later when Abby’s headed back to MAC. “Wanna come help me sort the bikini underwear? The new girl mixed up the polka dots and the flowers, and it’s just a huge mess. It’ll be fun.”

“Nope,” Patrick says sullenly. “Go away.”

“Aw, Peeks, don’t be like that.” Sharpy comes behind the counter and sits on it, his legs swinging. It’s a good thing Patrick’s father isn’t around to see that, he’s warned Sharpy that he’ll boil him in the nacho cheese sauce if he keeps doing that shit and risking having the health department cite them. Patrick glares at him and then looks back down at the dough he’s kneading without responding. 

“Hey, Peeks. Hey.” Sharpy pokes his side, and Patrick growls at him. “All right, Jesus. I just thought you’d like to look take a glance at Captain, my Captain over there.” 

He nods toward the front of _Whole-istic_ , and Jonny’s staring at them, frowing. He starts when he meets Patrick’s eyes, and looks down at the client he’s massaging, the strong muscles in his arms bulging as he works on her back. Even from here, Patrick can see how red his cheeks are, and he waves, dumbly, when Jonny looks up again. 

There’s a string of dough clinging to his fingers, and he turns around quickly. And shit, now his face feels like it’s jumped from pink to red. Probably tomato-red. Maybe even brick-red. Fuck.

Patrick hates his life.

Sharpy sighs. “Listen, Peek-a-boo. I say this with all affection and respect: you’re being a dumbass.”

Patrick glares a look at him. “Fuck off.”

“I mean, so is he. But come on, Peeks. You’re a smart guy. Tazer’s a relatively smart guy. You have to see the way he looks at you.” Patrick deflates a little, shrugging. “Think, Pat. He’s always over here, talking to you, mooning over you. Think how he looks.” Patrick pauses, arrested by the serious expression on Sharpy’s face. “You have to see it.”

Patrick stops and considers Jonny’s behavior over the past year since his mom opened _Whole-istic_. He does come for pretzels three or four times a day. He always waits to walk Patrick to his car after their shifts. When they play hockey, he’s constantly on Patrick’s ass about something -- passes, face-offs, defense --but when Patrick scores, he wraps Patrick up in arms, screaming with joy.

“Maybe,” Patrick says slowly. “But - he’s always talking to Karen, the essential oil girl. She’s smoking hot, and just. I don’t.” He swallows and shrugs again. “I don’t think he’s gay.”

And right there is the biggest reason Patrick’s life sucks.

“Pat, you idiot. He’s bi.” When Patrick scoffs, Sharpy shakes his head. “He is! I was talking to him the other day - “ he raises his hands when Patrick opens his mouth to protest - “I didn’t say anything about you, don’t worry. But he told me he had a boyfriend last year. And since you’re not really out - buddy, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, by the way, other than that clueless asshole - I didn’t say anything.

“I’m not NOT out,” Patrick says, frowning. “I’m just not OUT out.”

“I don’t even understand what that means,” Sharpy says flatly. “But whatever. He is. Out, I mean.” He puts his arm around Patrick, leaning on him heavily to whisper in his ear. “And right now he’s glaring daggers at me. Doesn’t like anyone else touching his little Peeks.”

“Ugh, get off, I don’t like you leaning on me either, you smell like my grandma’s perfume,” Patrick says, pushing at Sharpy’s heavy arm. “Asshole.” He risks a quick glance over at Jonny, and sure enough he’s staring at Sharpy, his jaw set.

And Patrick thinks about it. Jonny definitely hasn’t dated anyone since Patrick met him. And sometimes he stands a little closer than he needs to. And when they go out after work, he glares at anyone Patrick dances with, even though he won’t dance himself. Maybe Erica and Sharpy are right. Maybe Patrick can risk it. Maybe...

Fuck it. His life can’t suck any harder, and he’s tired of pining from afar.

“Fuck it,” Patrick says firmly. “You’re right. I’ve been mooning over this asshole for six months.” He looks at Sharpy and summons a small smile. “Sorry for being a dick.”

“It’s okay,” Sharpy says archly. “I expect you to be a dick.” He laughs and steps away before Patrick can smack him, heading back to Victoria’s Secret. “Tell him! And Peeks?”

“Yeah?” Patrick says warily, because that tone of voice is never good.

“Safety first! Always wear a condom! Go get ‘em, tiny little cowboy.” He disappears into the store, followed closely by two middle aged women tittering and looking back at Patrick.

“Why am I even friends with you?” Patrick says under his breath, going back to staring at Jonny and his client. From behind him, Erica clears her throat. He looks at her and wonders how long she’s been standing there; judging by the look on her face, long enough to hear what he said to Sharpy.

“You want a break, Pat? I think Jonny almost finished with his client.” She’s watching him, eyes assessing. “If you want to do it now, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, then again, a little more firmly, “yeah.” If he’s doing this, he’s not half-assing it. “I’m gonna…” He looks back over at Jonny, who’s squatting now to work on the client’s calf. Patrick swallows, distracted, when Erica makes a noise. “What?”

“Let me,” she wipes at his cheek and he squirms, batting at her hand. “Stop, you have some flour, just, hold still,” she says, licking her thumb and rubbing at a couple of spots. “Can’t let you declare your love for Jonny looking like a maniacal baker.” She runs her fingers through his hair a little, but just drops her hands in exasperation. “Yeah, I can’t fix that.”

“Ha ha,” Patrick says, taking off his apron. “I’m going.”

“Good luck, Patty,” she says softly. “It’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.”

Jonny’s just bidding his customer goodbye when Patrick walks up, and he shifts on his feet impatiently while he waits. When she’s gone, Jonny turns to Patrick. “What’s up?” He asks, curious, and Patrick flushes a little. Jonny’s so gorgeous, his hair a little mussed, sweating, red-faced.

God, Patrick hates his life.

“So, um,” Patrick says, “I.”

“Pat?” Jonny steps closer, taking his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“IlikeyouandIthinkyou’rehotandIwanttodateyoudoyouwantotgooutsometimeorohmygodsomeone stopme-”

“Patrick, take a breath,” Jonny says, taking his other arm and turning Patrick toward him. “You - did you say you like me?’

“Maybe,” Patrick mumbles, his face on fire again, but he forces himself to continue. “Do you - do you wanna go out sometime?”

Jonny looks at him, his eyes serious, for a long moment before he breaks into a huge grin. “Yes, God, yes, Pat, I thought you’d never catch a clue.”

“What?’ Patrick sputters a warm feeling spreading through his stomach. 

“God, do you know how many pretzels I had to compost? Shit, the homeless men in my neighborhood just laugh at me when I get home. I’ve put them off pretzels for life, apparently.”

“I knew you weren’t eating all those! Look at you, your everything,” Patrick gestures at Jonny’s body, and Jonny flushes. “What the hell, man. I hope you were eating at least a couple of them.”

“Well,” Jonny’s flush gets a little deeper. “I. Uh. I’m allergic to gluten?”

“You’re - what?” Patrick feels like he’s been hit by a two-by-four. “You’re allergic. To gluten. You.” Jonny nods, he sputters. “You’ve bought four pretzels a day from me, every day, for the past four months!”

“Yeah, well, not every day,” Jonny mumbles. “You don’t work _every_ day.” The way he says it is a little sulky a little defensive, and Patrick feels something inside of him melt.

“But - why didn’t you just say something? You know, instead of wasting your entire salary on food you couldn’t eat?”

“It wasn’t wasting, I mean. I did feed some homeless people, so.” When Patrick scoffs, he puts up his hands in surrender. “Fine, yeah, I should’ve said something, but I just.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know for sure if you were, you know. Interested. I mean, I’ve been flirting with you for months, and I guess I just thought you weren’t gay.” 

Jonny looks a little tight around the eyes, and Patrick can’t have that, so he goes with his usual response to emotional displays that aren’t his own: chirping.

“Flirting! That was - wow. You’re _really_ bad at flirting.” He jostles Jonny’s arm, and then steps a little closer. 

Jonny grabs his hand, threading their fingers together. “”Yeah, well, you’re really bad at noticing, so how would you know?”

Patrick pulls on Jonny’s hand until they’re standing chest-to-chest. “Well, I’m noticing now, okay?” He swallows, his throat a little tight. And it figures that now Patrick’s the one getting emotional.

Luckily, Jonny apparently has his own way of dealing with emotional displays that aren’t his own. He pulls Patrick even closer, wraps his arms around him, and kisses him, bending him back a little over one arm. It’s a fucking rom com move and he can already hear Erica chirping him, but Patrick can’t make himself mind. He’s gripping Jonny’s biceps, and his lips are on Jonny’s, and Jonny’s kissing him breathless.

Yeah, Patrick’s life is pretty awesome.


End file.
